Ghost Story
by KrystinaSky
Summary: 5 years post ROTS to ROTJ. Something haunts Darth Vader's shadow. As witnessed by a young Piett. On temporary hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

It was a strange sort of ghost story, haunting and terrible, but not the sort of thing that scared little children in their beds at night, it wasn't that sort of ghost at all. It didn't hurt people, or wail in the night, or cause mysterious disappearances, it just cried quietly to itself, and haunted the memories of all who saw it until the day they died. Or at least, that was what he had been told.

Tomas Piett put no weight in ghost stories; he was a grown man, an imperial officer, and such things were beneath him. So, when he was assigned as a bridge officer to Lord Vader's flag ship, it was not the supposed ghost that turned his throat dry; no, he was slightly more concerned with the mortality rate amongst Vader's bridge officers. But really, it hadn't been so bad. He saw Vader every day, of course, but never had he said a word to the young lieutenant lurking beneath his imposing notice in the right wing crew pit. And Piett rather liked it that way.

The first time he heard the ghost mentioned on Vader's ship he had been aboard not quite a year. The man was a superior officer of all things, and Piett entertained a rather disapproving scowl when he drew near enough in the mess hall to hear the white faced and shaking man describe seeing the ghost , staring at him as Vader's cloke swept aside to reveal him. Piett remembered the darkness of sweat against the collar of his gray uniform as he lay choking out the last moments of his life at Vader's feet. Apparently, Lord Vader was not fond of the ghost either.

Piett was working a late shift, and as was typical around that time of night, the entire ship had a quiet, empty sort of feel to it, even on the bridge. It was the nearness of the breathing that first alerted him to the sort-of man behind him. Vader's breathing had become something Piett was accustomed to, working on the bridge, sucking recycled air above him, sometimes accompanied by the deep thrum of his voice. But, he realized at that moment, it was suddenly different, louder, much louder. So Piett did as he had been trained to do even in terrifying situations such as the one he found himself in. He sprang to his feet beside his chair, back parade ground strait and his flat hand held at the correct angle to his eyebrow.

Piett always carried a holo of his girl Palana from back home. Mostly because he'd promised her, and considering he did want to marry her eventually he figured he might as well start keeping his promises to her early, get into the habit and everything. Unfortunately, he had never considered a situation in which her holo would somehow slip from his pocket just as he had been approached for the first (and, he was thinking at the moment, most likely last) time in his life. His face drained of all color as the small, flat image drifted to the ground at their feet. Before he could even consider whether it would be better to bend quickly to retrieve it spouting apologies all the way down, or pretend he hadn't noticed and stay as he was, the holo had floated seemingly of its own volition into Vader's black-clad hand. He tried to force a swallow past his dry throat as Vader examined the image.

"Who is she lieutenant?" the monster asked.

"My girl, sir." Piett croaked.

"Fiancé?" Piett was too frightened at that point to truly recognize the oddity of the conversation.

"Not yet, sir."

"Will she be?"

"I hope so." Piett said.

Vader continued to study the holo quietly for a moment, then: "She is lovely."

"Yes sir." Piett agreed, not quite able to keep all vestiges of enthusiasm from his voice as he thought of Palana's dark brown curls and matching eyes, her short, petite frame. And for an instant Piett could have sworn he heard Vader murmur, "Her hair was a bit darker." To himself.

"At ease, lieutenant." The deep voice seemed to sigh. He sounded almost tired, weary, and maybe even, (it was a horribly unprofessional thought) lonely.

The ghost stood at Vader's feet, just barely behind him, the sweep of that black cloke seeming to seek to shroud him possessively. He was a boy, a young boy no older then ten, certainly. Fair haired in worn clothes with the sort of big, beautiful blue eyes that would make a mother smile with pride. He was crying, and as Piett watched, he reached out his hands, palms up and reaching through Vader's shadow. In the harsh lighting the blood pooled on them, dripped through his fingers. But it was not that which would forever haunt Tomas Piett, it was rather the look in those beautiful eyes as he starred right back at him. He was heartbroken, shattered, and pleading, pleading for something Piett thought just could be salvation. It sparked something in the Imperial officer, a long forgotten compassion which wormed its way through Carida's conditioning and drew his hands out towards that heartbroken little boy. For a moment there was a glint of almost-hope in his eyes.

"Lieutenant?" Piett's gaze shifted form the boy back to Vader as muffled, industrious noise trickled back into his ears. He stared at the nightmare before him, blinking in confusion. "Is there a problem?" He looked back to Vader's feet, but the boy was gone.

"What?" he whispered.

"Lieutenant?" snapped Vader, harsher this time, warning. Embarrassed, Piett realized his hands were still hanging there between them, reaching for the ghost.

"I'm sorry milord, I—" And he stopped, because beneath the darkness that was Lord Vader, he could have sworn he saw a glint of blue eyes.

And for the first time in many, many years the heart of a person reached out in compassion to a monster with blue eyes and blood on his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much to to my reviewers, you were all very helpful and encouraging!

So far there are (I think) 6 parts written, and I am planning to write one more.

Thanks again! Enjoy.

Part 2

Piett had no doubt that Vader was perfectly aware of what it was he had seen. And yet, to his surprise, he continued to carry on his everyday life, breathing freely and even being offered a small promotion. It had now been two months since he had first seen the ghost, and although his life continued it was still a memory that haunted him.

Furthermore, he was becoming more and more suspicious that the fearsome Darth Vader was…well, avoiding him. It was such a very strange thought, that the second most powerful man in the galaxy would actually take the time to avoid little, inconsequential him, that he was caught between feeling flattered, baffled, and doubtful of his own observations. And yet he could really not think of any other reasons for Lord Vader's actions.

He no longer entered the right wing crew pit at all, and even when he would have passed just above Piett's head, made a quick curve toward the left wing crew pit. This could of course have any number of reasonable explanations, but the fact that it had happened every day since he had first seen the ghost was beginning to convince him of the truth of his suspicions. Furthermore, just last week he had been about to pass Lord Vader in the hall (his heart rate gaining momentum with each step) when the large man stopped abruptly, took a step back, and whirled quickly back into another passage. Piett had been so shocked he had stood for a full minute, staring at Vader's quickly retreating back, rendering him 30 seconds late for his shift, and earning a stern lecture from the Captain.

And so it would stand to reason that he was quite terrified when the captain sent him off to Vader's personal quarters with a message involving some sort of rebel movements. Now of course the Captain could have simply contacted the Lord via commlink, but he had been rather upset since Piett had arrived late for his shift.

The walk to Vader's quarters was a short one. The halls seemed to have contracted to half their usual size and hence he arrived in half the time it would usually take him. By this time his mind had dragged his thoughts over death so many times that he had gone numb, and was not quite aware of having entered the chamber until his mind registered the back of a horrendously pale, sickly and horribly scarred head. The fact that it was the back of _Vaders_ head finally registered and snapped him quickly out of his stupor. Vader turned slowly, seated on his swiveling seat, to reveal the familiar mask covering his face, looking quite odd surrounded as it was by thin, pale flesh.

Now he _knew _he was going to die.

"My lord, I, you see, the captain, I thought, signaled, did I signal?" The ghost was huddled at Vader's feet. His head was buried in his arms where they rested on his knees.

"oh no." Piett whispered. At the sound of his voice, the little boy looked up with the same beautiful blue eyes, the same tears cutting wet tracks down his cheeks. He stretched out his hands and the blood was still there, dripping through his fingers, wet and thick. Pity rose within the young officer, despite his present situation, and again he felt himself drawn toward the ghost, no longer caring about what he now believed to be his imminent death. There was something about his eyes.

"Colonel Piett." But Tomas didn't look away form the ghost.

"Yes my lord." He answered.

"I would suggest that you regain control of yourself." And it was then that he realized he was crying.

"Yes sir." A very small, hopeful smile tugged at the corner of the boys' lips.

"You can do nothing for him Colonel, come no closer." Yes, and he had been walking forward as well.

"Are you sure?"

"What?" snapped the Dark Lord.

"Has anybody ever tried?"

"It is pointless."

"He doesn't seem to think so." Piett stopped. He was so close he could reach out and touch either Vader or the boy, he had actually stepped up _inside_ Vader's meditation chamber. He was actually glad he would be dying soon, for other wise he might come back to his senses and die of shock at his own daring. "Can't you see him?"

"Yes, I can see him." There was a quiet sort of pain in his voice then as it lost it's edge of command.

"Who is he?"

"Someone who died a long time ago."

"Then why is he with you?"

"He will not leave me."

"Never?"

"No." They stayed in silence for a moment, Piett watching the ghost, Vader watching Piett.

"I believe you had a reason for coming here." Vader said, his voice was quiet and resigned.

"Yes sir." And he told him, eyes flickering between the ghost and the Sith.

And then, "You are dismissed." Lord Vader said.

With a last glance at the ghost, Colonel Piett turned to leave. He stopped in the doorway.

"My Lord, is there anything left of him?" He asked

"I am afraid that the only person who might know that is dead." Vader said.

"Did she have dark hair?"

"Yes."

Piett came to his senses two meters from Lord Vader's door. The first thing he realized was that he was still alive. He was momentarily overjoyed until he recalled the details of his conversation with the dark Lord.

He was discovered unconscious on the floor outside Vader's door and shocked all who heard of his discovery by still retaining a heartbeat. Most officers found on the floor outside Lord Vader's quarters were already stiffening.


	3. Chapter 3

I like this chapter, but I've always thought Vader might be a little to out of character, even more so then the past couple chapters.

Anyways, thanks for all your reviews, you guys are really great!

Part 3

And so another year passed. Piett still caught glances of the ghost, sweeping along wrapped in the shadows of Vader's wake or sitting huddled at his feet. It had become an ordinary knowledge between them, that he could see him, and so they reached a sort of silent understanding, never again mentioning it, although Piett could never bring himself to ignore him. Piett was a good officer, a bit distractible sometimes, and as time went on and his relationship with Palana became more prominent in his life as it matured, he developed a slight tendency for day dreaming. And, after two weeks of leave during which Palana became his fiancé, he received several reprimands from a scowling commander for smiling too much on the job. He apologized immediately and corrected the problem for as long as his wandering mind could focus on the reprimand.

Mail call had soon become his favorite part of the day. Although holo messages were not permitted, text messages were delivered regularly on cheep, disposable flimsiplast at each mealtime, during which Piett's name was usually called at least once. This day was no different. He was having a late dinner and arrived just in time for the beginning of the mail call. As usual his name was called, and a grinning Tomas Piett hurried forward to receive his usual lengthy letter from Palana.

But today, it was not a letter from Palana, but from his father.

The flimsiplast crumpled in his hand, crinkling loudly in the breathless silence. All around him the corridor swayed, narrowed, darkened, them brightened harsh, demanding, impersonal, comfortless. The thud of Piett's heart seemed slow, reluctant, and impossibly loud. A sudden feeling of being trapped, trapped in some horrible nightmare descended suddenly, and Piett began to run. He ran and ran, as if the horror was behind him, as if he could somehow escape it. Gray shadows yelled at him, their black boots clicking, their reprimands severe, but they were nothing, smoky shadows of men who had sold their souls, empty, dead. At last the smoke men were lost behind him, a door slid shut with horrifying normality and it was only Tomas Piett, the stars, and a nightmare.

He screamed, he sobbed , he begged, and finally he sat, cross-legged like a little boy on the floor, mechanically smoothing the flimsiplast over and over his knee, the tears slow and steady and silent. Behind him the door opened, a roar in the silence.

"Colonel, what is wrong with you." Snapped the voice.

Piett tore his eyes from his knee to glare at the dark shell in the doorway.

"Get away you murdering monster, you horrible, horrible….." and his voice drifted away in a sob.

"What?!" came the shocked voice of one of the most powerful men in the galaxy.

"You kill people, " Piett sobbed, "You kill people, sons and fathers and girlfriends and…oh blast it all just kill me!"

"No, what are you babbling about?"

"You don't know, you don't know how much it hurts, I'll bet you've never loved anyone in your entire life! You can't know, it hurts so bad…"

"You are being ridiculous, I am ordering you to explain yourself!" There was danger in his tone now, and Piett welcomed it, like the scent of death and Palana's perfume.

"Will you kill me if I don't?"

"No, but I'll make you will wish I had, you are trying my patience."

"She's dead," The words squeezed from his throat almost of their own volition, reducing him to sobs at their finality.

"Who?"

"Palana, she's dead."

And for a moment there was a broken silence between them.

"Did I have something to do with this?" And there was something different in his voice now, something heartbreaking and human and Piett thought he was crying for both of them.

"No, it was a speeder accident."

He turned his head to look at the man in the doorway. He seemed smaller, a little slumped, one hand on the wall. And the ghost was there of course, of course he would be, always in the midst of heartbreak, crying for the both of them too. Piett sobbed at the sight of him, "Blast it all, who is he?" He demanded.

And Vader, quiet, "He's me."

"Who is he crying for?" Piett asked.

"Padme." The monster breathed. And finally Piett understood the little ghost in the shadows. He opened his arms, and the boy ventured from the depths of Vader's cloak, wrapping his little arms around the colonel's neck, smearing ghostly blood on his uniform. He was cold and he felt beyond fragile, broken and weak, and his tears were like ice. "It's so cold." He whispered his voice barley audible, drifting and insubstantial from his frigid lips.

"I know." Piett whispered back.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Does the hurt ever go away?"

Behind them, the ship that had delivered Piett back from the funeral moved away, back into formation with the other shuttles. Vader stood before the returned colonel, having met him as the ship landed.

"No." he answered.

"Then what do you do?" Piett asked, drained and empty.

"You pretend," said Vader, "You bury it, you ignore it, you do whatever you have to to forget."

Piett looked away, choking back the last of his tears. The deck was cold and sterile, but no longer threatening. Now it occurred to him that it could be something else; a hiding place. Feelings were not allowed here; pain and grief were killed and buried with everything else human, doomed to roam the lonely halls as bloodstained ghosts. Perhaps he to could forget, or at least pretend to.

"Sir,' said Piett, turning back to his superior, straightening his slumping spine back into attention, "I apologize for my unprofessional behavior and request an immediate return to duties."

Vader regarded him for a moment, quietly, some indefinable emotion lingering between them. But he said only "granted." and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again to all you who reviewed, your comments really are helpful. Eventually I'll get around to posting individual responses for each of you but I'm really lacking in motivation at the moment. So for now, thank you all very much and here's the next part for you!

For the first time in years the newly minted Admiral Piett felt real fear of his ghost-ridden superior. Respect and awe were the usual order of the day, perhaps even a smidgen of fear when faced with the sheer power of the man, but never had their been the fear for his life so common amongst the rest of the crew. Until now.

The dieing gasps of the former Admirall Ozzel still rang in Piett's ears, punctuated by the thud of his lifeless body on the deck. Combined with the reckless abandon with which Vader had plunged his fleet through fatal asteroid fields, his dark mood swings and distracted seclusion, the man which Piett had come to know perhaps more than anyone had in the past 20 years was fast becoming completely unpredictable, and, although he had never exactly been the picture of sanity, perhaps even unstable.

Although they had never been what one could call friends, there had existed a comfortable sort of understanding between them that allowed for private somethings that sometimes bordered on simple conversation. Vader had not spoken a word to Piett off the bridge in months, not since the hunt for the rebel Skywalker had begun, in fact.

The entire situation had the Admiral completely confused. He had heard that in the early days of the Empire Vader had hunted Jedi with ruthless abandon, but there was something different about this hunt, something that seemed almost…desperate.

At last a bright young ensign that Vader had once admitted to Piett he hoped to see rise quickly through the ranks and whom they had both quietly nudged towards that eventuality was put in the medcenter with a severely broken arm and bruised wind pipe. Piett personally visited the young man, who told him that Vader had grabbed him by the neck and thrown him against a wall upon emerging from his chambers just as the ensign was walking by. Although the confused ensign didn't specifically claim the fact it was apparent to Piett by the boys' honest confusion that the attack had been unprovoked and could very well have ended the ensign's life. At last Piett realized that the issue could no longer be avoided; he needed to speak with Vader before he did something they both would regret.

And so it was with an old feeling of encroaching doom coiling in his stomach that Piett once again stood before the again terrifying doors of Vader's personal chambers, his heart shuddering in his chest and sweat beading on his palms. Gathering both courage and discipline and dredging up memories of those semi-friendly almost-conversations, Piett entered the room.

Vader sat, as usual, in those jaws. But now there was nothing intimidating about the picture. His helmeted head was in his hands, his shoulders slumped. He looked weak, broken, and strangely old. And Piett felt his fear begin to drain as his eyes fell on the familiar bloodstained child, mirroring Vader's broken pose at his feet.

"Milord?" Piett asked, his voice echoing slightly in the stark chamber.

Vader didn't bother to move, but the ghost looked up, his beautiful eyes catching on Piett and the small, pathetic quirk of his lips that was the closest he ever came to a smile flashing on his gauzy face in greeting. Piett returned the greeting with a tiny smile of his own.

"What is it Tomas?" And the rest of Piett's fear flew from him. Whatever had changed in the Dark Lord in recent months, his regard and their almost-friendship apparently had not. Piett stepped up onto the edge of the chamber, leaning slightly on one of the squared teeth.

"Ensign Maquel is in the medcenter." Piett told him.

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"His windpipe should recover, but he might lose the arm." At last Vader looked up, "Perhaps you might recall the force with which you threw him against the wall this morning?"

"That was Maquel?"

"Apparently. He's quite confused, he doesn't seem to recall doing anything that might have offended you."

"He didn't." Vader responded, standing and leaving the teethed chamber to stand at the opposite wall, staring into its blank coldness as if he could see through to the stars. The ghost curled himself against one booted foot, almost obscured by Vader's cloak, staring down at his dripping hands. Piett followed, standing beside him, mirroring his stance; facing the wall, head lowered, hands clasped behind his back.

"Ozzel was an idiot, I know, but a simple demotion would have done the trick." He paused, measuring out his next words carefully, "I don't usually…question your decisions, but recently you seem to be…" he stopped again, struggling to find the words.

"Irrational." Vader supplied.

"Well, to be honest…" He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why are you here, Piett?" Vader asked, in his usual straightforward, get to the point manner, laced with the familiar edge of command; grounds more comfortable for the both of them. Piett straightened his back, stealing himself.

"Clearly something is going on that I am not aware of. I had hoped that you might be willing to enlighten me." Piett finally said, turning to stare at Vader's horrific profile.

He stood for a moment, seeming to contemplate, before turning to face Piett as well.

"Very well, I will enlighten you." He walked back to his chamber, touching a button and motioning for Piett to join him. An image appeared on a small screen set into the panel, one which Piett immediately recognized.

"The Jedi we're chasing." He supplied, noting with interest how far the ghost ventured from Vader's shadow in order to stand on his toes and look at the image, his finger making a bloody trail where he traced the contours of the face pictured there.

"Yes." Vader affirmed, as usual ignoring the specter at his feet, "What do you know of the Skywalkers?"

"I was a child during the Clone Wars but I certainly remember the stories of Anakin Skywalker." And Piett couldn't help but notice the way the ghost seemed to straighten his limp little shoulders a bit and look up at Piett with some remnant of confidence, and the way Vader seemed to wince, just slightly. Clearly Anakin Skywalker had been of some import to them. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Stories?" Vader asked, sounding almost…wistful?

It was unwise to speak anything positive of the Jedi, particularly in the presence of their greatest and most ardent adversary, but Piett had been a great admirer of Skywalker, and Kenobi for that matter, as a child. He had hero worshipped them along with the rest of the galaxy back then, when the Jedi were still heroes and not traitors. "He was a hero in the Clone Wars, they said he had no fear; to be perfectly honest I was… rather fond of him as a child." Again the ghost looked up from Skywalker's image to glance at Piett with that sad quirk of his lips.

"Did you know that Luke Skywalker is his son?" Vader asked.

"I had wondered." Piett answered, taking a second look at the image. "He does seem to have some resemblance to him, from what I can remember."

"Yes, he does." Vader agreed.

"I'm sorry sir, but I still don't understand."

"You recall I once mentioned…_her_ to you." There was no need to ask who _her_ was.

Since that mention so long ago in the wake of Palana's death, he had never again said her name; Padme.

"Yes, I remember."

"I recently discovered that before her death she had my child, a child which was hidden from me for almost twenty years."

Piett stood, processing, thinking, his mind struggling to string it all together, to fit all the pieces Vader had just handed him into a coherent image. He looked down at the ghost, noticing the constant flow of tears had thickened, noticed the avid way he stared at that image with his beautiful eyes, his bloody fingers now gripping the edge of the console, a look of such terrible pain on his face, pain and longing, and maybe even a glimmer of hope. And suddenly it all came together.

He gasped, staring between the ghost, Vader, and the image of Luke Skywalker, all breathtaking blue eyes and shaggy fair hair. "He's your son."


	5. Chapter 5

I know I know, it's been forever and a day, and I really am sorry about the wait. College and work and essays rather than stories have beem sapping my creative juices lately. But, here is the next bit anyway, a little shorter than I would have liked but it sort of ended itself if you know what I mean, and attempting to drag it out completley killed the mood.

Thanks again to all you reviewers, and those who dropped me a PM, you're so sweet.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Yes." Vader said, and reached though the ghost to shut off the image.

"But then you were…" And Piett trailed off, not sure if this was territory on which he could tread; the origins of the mysterious Darth Vader. But this certainly threw an interesting twist into history, one of the Old Republic and the Jedi Order's greatest heroes abandoning and betraying it in it's moment of greatest need, one of the most revered heroes of the Republic days, celebrated by rebels and simple non-threatening traditionalists alike, not a martyr as he had been celebrated, but a traitor. Ruined and scarred and hidden behind a mask, trailed by a ghost with blood on his hands.

"The past is best left in the past, Tomas." Vader said, with just a hint of warning in his voice. Piett nodded, but wondered silently just how well Vader himself managed that particular feat, judging by the ghost at his feet, perhaps not very well.

"Does he know?"

"No."

"So he believes…what the rest of the galaxy believes, that his father is dead, I mean."

"Yes."

"And you want to find and, I suppose, capture him so that you can," Piett ventured a guess, "enlighten him?"

"Yes, among other things." Vader seemed lost in thought again, and Piett realized suddenly that perhaps even Vader himself didn't quite know what he would do when he had captured the boy.

"Does the emperor have any say in this?" Piett asked, as usual feeling that fearful dropping sensation in the pit of his stomach of stepping out into dangerous territory; questioning the emperor.

"The Emperor wishes for Skywalker to join us or die."

"By us you mean the Empire I assume.

"By default." Piett let the evasive answer slide, a fearful tingling sensation running up his spine as he remembered rumors of Sith Lords.

"And what do you think of the Emperor's wishes for your son?" Vader turned back to him at the reference to Skywalker as his son, and Piett glanced down at the ghost, mirroring Vader's movement with that same wistful almost-smile.

"I am uncertain."

"But you're still chasing him."_ Obsessively _, Piett added to himself.

Vader was silent, and for the first time that Piett had ever seen, he looked down at the specter huddled against his feet.. For an indefinable moment, the two that were not two after all, looked into one another's eyes.

"All I know," Vader said, in the softest voice that Piett had ever heard him use, "Is that I want …my son."

Standing there, watching the ruins of what had once been a hero staring into his own soul, Piett glimpsed something that was truly, beautifully, undeniably human, something of what it meant to be human, something he didn't think he would ever be able to put a word to but rang too deeply true to be denied. So with heat behind his eyes he hadn't felt in years, Tomas Piett told the man that had once been Anakin Skywalker that he would do everything in his power to bring him his son.

And he did.

Because if Darth Vader could love, there was hope for the rest of the galaxy after all.


End file.
